


Hey Jealous Lover Ch.12 of 16

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Jealous Brian, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1466896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes what you want is not what you need<br/>Sometimes what you need is not what you want<br/>Takes place after Ep.208 and before Ep.217</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey Jealous Lover Ch.12 of 16

**“So you're drowning,” said the scorpion on the frog's back. “We're both drowning, but you knew I was a scorpion when you put me on your back for a ride. What did you expect?”**  


Legs tangled in the mass confusion of his plush comforter, Brian forced a bleary eye open and squinted at the unwelcome brightness filtering into the loft. Irritated and annoyed after only a few hours of sleep, he throwing an arm over his face against the intrusion. He stared at the ceiling for half an hour, trying to talk himself back into unconsciousness. It didn’t work. The fact that he was alone in bed didn’t help either.

Cursing in whispers, he threw off the duvet, swung his feet to the floor and dragged himself up. He rotated his neck as if to dislodge a kink, pleasantly surprised to find no serious repercussions from his earlier debauchery. After a perfunctory visit to the bathroom, he padded to the living room and stopped short, taken aback by a sleeping Justin on the sofa, swaddled from earlobes to ankles in a terry cloth robe. With his face pillowed on folded hands and a delectable hint of drool seeping from the corner of his mouth, he looked as if he should be in elementary school. Brian cringed at the mental picture, briefly feeling every bit like the pedophile Howard Bellweather accused him of being.  
  
He walked to the sleeping man and sank to his knees, studying the childlike face with its innocence and vulnerability, very much aware that it was anything but innocent or vulnerable. He hadn’t wanted this, any of it _._ Sex, fun, experimentation? Yes. Declarations of loyalty, commitment and the dreaded four-letter L word from a hormonally driven teenager? No. Why did life have to be so complicated?  
  
Of its own accord, his finger reached out to stroke the inside arch of a visible foot. When it reflexively tried to pull away, his hand held it in place.  
  
“Mmm, now that’s a very delectable way to wake up,” Justin murmured.  
  
Encouraged by the dreamy smile and half-opened eyes, Brian moved from the right foot to the left, devoting his attention to every bit of exposed flesh. His fingers worked their way up his calves. When he found small knots of tension, he kneaded until they dissolved. He grinned at Justin's delighted groans.  
  
Reduced to a puddle of goo by the decadent massage, Justin was reluctant to break the spell. “Can I keep you on retainer?” he joked. “You know, for times when—” His voice hitched as a mouth brushed the inside of one thigh and a thumb caressed the other, sending a message to relax and let Brian do what he did best.  
  
“Go on,” Brian urged in between traveling kisses and breathy wisps of air.  
  
“Uhh....” Justin was at a loss for words as an unshaven cheek rasped across his skin like sandpaper.  When the prickles scraped against the head of his dick, he gasped at the sensation, almost bolting off the bed. Only the forceful grip of Brian’s hands on his hips kept him firmly planted. “Brian! Fuck! Jesus!”  
  
Brian raised his head and chuckled. “Shouldn’t that be Brian, fuck Justin?”  
  
“Very fucking funny!” Justin raised his head but it flopped back down. He couldn't withstand the talented mouth that knew him so well.  
  
Brian worked his magic. He gently sucked at the tight sac, drawing lascivious circles all around with his tongue before turning his attention to the stiff shaft. He loved Justin’s cock, loved everything about it—its length and width, taste and texture. He loved licking and sucking it. Most of all, he loved making it come in his mouth. Wide swipes of his tongue traced the sensitive vein on the underside. He felt it pulse with each lick, and it took all of his restraint not to devour it and bring Justin off immediately. But he didn’t because he was Brian Kinney, and Brian Kinney knew the rewards of patience and perseverance. He drove him crazy with teasing pokes at his slit, taking him to the edge and back, reinforcing that only _he_ could take him where he wanted to go, where he needed to be. The unrelenting assault continued, lick after lick, suck after suck, until Justin surrendered with a cry and a curse, giving himself, as he always did and always would, to Brian.  
  
With the sound of panting in his ears, Brian lapped at the remaining liquid and slithered up the flushed and sweaty body. Unmistakably smug, he brushed a dampened lock from the pale forehead.  
  
“I, I thought...” Justin cleared his throat. “I thought I was supposed to do that to _you_.”  
  
Brian couldn’t help but smirk. “Yeah, well I can think of a number of ways you can apologize and make it up to me.” Raunchy scenarios flashed through his mind. He decided he liked that idea.  
  
“Really? Shouldn’t that be the other way around?” The words tumbled out of Justin’s mouth before he could stop them, and in that briefest iota of an instant, when the brain is a jigsaw puzzle of words waiting to be arranged into cohesion, one thought rose to the surface like curdled cream—maybe his slip of the tongue was more Freudian than accidental.  
  
Brian gave him a hard look and a sigh to match before wearily pulling himself off the sofa. “Justin.”  
  
Justin cringed. _Shit, here it comes! I thought the worst was over. Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut?_  
  
Like a child who had misbehaved in class, Brian shifted from one foot to the other. “I was a shit, okay?”  
  
Justin had to strain to hear the barely audible words. He wasn’t sure he heard correctly and had to stop himself from running to the window to make sure this wasn’t an alternate universe. “What for?” He didn’t want to belabor the subject, knowing the effort it took for Brian to do the unimaginable. But after the past few hours of hell, he wanted to hear what the man thought he was sorry for.

Brian took a deep breath _._ After letting it out with a whoosh, he ran a nervous hand through his disheveled hair _._ “I probably shouldn’t have said what I said to you and left.” He couldn’t stop fidgeting as he waited for a response. Fuck! This was harder than he expected and one of the reasons why he lived a life of no apologies or regrets, at least until that fateful night under the glow of a street lamp. Such a random decision, such huge consequences.

_ Like a million little doorways, all the choices we made. With every door that we opened, every bridge that we burned, so many different directions our separate paths might have turned. ©Rush _

_You really are becoming a lez, Kinney! What the fuck are you doing? What the fuck does it matter what he thinks? Where the fuck are your balls? Are you really buying into Deb’s bullshit? Face it, he may have gotten in under the wire, but he sure as hell isn’t going to stay there. Didn’t yesterday prove anything to you?_

No, this had to be done. He knew it. He felt it. Otherwise, there would be this unspoken "thing" between them. Better to say it, get it out in the open and hopefully move on.

“Yeah, you probably shouldn’t have.”  
  
The tousled brown head shot up. You probably shouldn’t have? Did Justin not realize the enormity of what he admitted, not only to himself but also to another breathing person? A dark eyebrow arched. “You _do_ understand what I said, don’t you?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“And ‘you probably shouldn’t have’ is all you can say?”  
  
“Pretty much.”  
  
Fucking shit! How the hell could a situation change so quickly? If he heard another two word answer, he would lose whatever control he had left. “What the fuck is your problem now?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
He sent a withering glare in Justin's direction. Wishing the effects of last night’s indulgence hadn’t worn off, he realized he was already thinking about getting there again. “Let’s not do this,” he warned in a low voice. “I don’t have the time or the energy to play another round of ‘Encounters of the Emotional Kind’ with you.”  
  
“You never do.” Justin threw him a sharp look before turning away.  
  
“What crawled up your ass?” Without his morning coffee and cigarette, Brian's ability to switch emotional and mental gears at the drop of a hat was severely limited. Even after caffeine and nicotine, Justin’s tendency to jump from one thought to another, to seesaw between emotions, often left him scratching his head and searching for additional reinforcement from his pharmaceutical friends. His patience was wearing thin. “Tell me, so we can get over this and go back to our fucked up normal life. What more do you want? I said I was...what you wanted me to say.”  
  
“Don't be. There's hardly any point anyway.”  
  
“Point in what?”  
  
“Being sorry. I mean— Ugh, never mind. It doesn't matter.”  
  
Brian wracked his brain to find a reason for the odd shift of emotion. He wondered if this was one of the more sudden mood swings the doctors had mentioned. He shook his head. No, he had a gut feeling that wasn’t it.  
  
Justin scowled, having caught the movement from the corner of his eye. “What?”  
  
“What ‘what?’”  
  
“Your little head shake.”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“There you go again. Tell me!”  
  
Brian looked at him warily. “Are you feeling all right?”  
  
“Am I what?”  
  
“You heard me.”  
  
“What I _am_ is fucking tired of everyone asking me if I’m okay so that I’ll _tell_ them I’m okay. I’m tired of pretending to _be_ okay so that everyone won’t ask me if I _am_ okay.”  
  
Clad only in his naked aggression—firm resolve of his lips, upturned tilt of his chin and hardness of his gaze—Justin’s emotions blazed brighter than neon clothing of the eighties. He stomped to the closet, shoving hangers from one side to the other before flinging a pair of jeans and a shirt on the bed. “I’m fine!” he gritted. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?”  
  
Brian’s face suggested a weary skepticism of one who had heard the answer before. “Talk to me!”  
  
“Don’t be an ass!”  
  
“Isn't that what I’m supposed to be?” Brian retorted. “How do you expect me to sift through all the guilt and nail biting tension you’re throwing at me? So fucking talk!”  
  
That grabbed Justin’s attention. He blinked his eyes in shock, as if awakened from a bad dream. He’d been so caught up in an escalating swirl of emotion, his words with Brian barely registered. What could he say anyway? How could he admit he was nervous? How could he admit he was nervous about being nervous, about seeing Adam, about working with him after what happened in the loft, and about his own feelings toward him?  
  
_Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me?_ He tried to keep his voice even and calm. “I‘m late. And like you, I don’t have time to play another round of ‘Encounters of the Emotional Kind’ either.” He brushed against Brian on the way to the shower and closed the door with a determined bang, needing to clear his head.                       

                                                                                           * * *   
  
Brian’s urgent need for coffee and plenty of it, fueled his walk to the kitchen. He leaned against the counter to wait for the first cup, inhaling the aroma and rubbing the back of his neck, the earlier nonexistent kink now existent. He sipped the steaming brew, each burning journey down his throat triggering another possible reason or explanation for what happened. His gaze settled briefly on the sofa where, less than an hour ago, he had Justin moaning and writhing under his hands and mouth.  
  
He scrubbed a hand across his face and poured another cup, letting his eyes travel around the loft. When he noticed his desk, papers scattered on the glass top and school related items strewnon the floor, he pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. Without thinking, he slammed his cup down, oblivious to the liquid that sloshed on the counter, and strode tight-lipped toward the mess. “You and your owner give me a fucking headache!” he muttered to the carelessly thrown backpack, scooping it up and tossing it on the chair with a curse.  
  
Too engrossed in his mental diatribe against the clutter, he didn’t notice Justin's phone slip out until it clattered on the floor. He placed it on the edge of the desk and straightened up the area. When everything was restored to his fastidious satisfaction, he gathered Justin’s belongings and started to fill the cloth pack. Glancing at the cell in his hand, he was surprised to see a 3:00 a.m. missed message from a number he didn’t recognize. Who the fuck was calling Justin at that hour? Curious, he flipped the phone open to see two other messages at 2:00 a.m. and 2:30 a.m. from the same number. Both had been read.

At first concerned that something had happened to Jennifer or Molly or even Daphne, he rationalized Justin would have woken him up immediately if that were the case. So he didn’t know the number. Big fucking deal. It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t know all of Justin’s friends. There was no reason he should. Probably a marketer—but those usually don’t have local area codes, a tiny voice whispered in his head. Possibly a wrong number—but not three calls in a row, the same voice countered skeptically in a more strident tone.  
  
The sudden pounding of his heart into his ribs threatened to double him over. His eyes darted back and forth between the bathroom door and the phone in his hand. What the fuck was he doing? He had nothing to worry about. His current dilemma would be much simpler if he didn’t know what he knew—Justin’s password. He stroked the flat screen with his thumb, remembering the twat’s hysterical laughter when he changed it to _ILOVECOCK._ He was so fucking predictable. His brows knitted together in a contemplative frown while he stared at the phone. Speculating was always dangerous and knowing the facts was always good. But proving them was even better. He clicked play,

                 I think my last message got cut off. I heard the beep. Sorry about that. I know you’re probably sleeping since you didn’t call me back.  
               That's okay. I usually don’t make phone calls in the middle of the night. What I’ve been trying to say is that I can’t stop thinking about  
               you. We’d be good together, Justin. I felt it when we were studying, and I know you felt it, too. That’s why I can’t sleep. Once I got the  
               idea in my head, I couldn't get it out. You deserve so much and you're getting so little. It didn't take me long to figure that out. You owe   
               it to yourself to find someone who'll treat you the way you should be treated, not take you for granted. Someone who'll kiss you when the   
               first snow falls, or spread warm chocolate on your thighs and lick it off, or have wine and cheese at midnight for no reason. I want to be   
               that guy, Justin. I want to make love to you. God, I bet you're amazing!  
               Okay, I'm gonna hang up before I get cut off again. I'm getting tired. Please don't think I'm some deranged idiot. I really just want to get  
               to know you. I'll see you in school tomo— That should probably be later, since it's only a few hours from now. I have some great ideas.  
               I guess you inspired me. I'm really excited. Wait til you see what I came up with! I'll meet you at the side entrance. Bye.                      

lluminated by the rays of light streaming into the loft, the lithe and lean body stood tall, the only visible sign of tension the pulsing cord in the long neck and distended vein in the smooth temple. With eyes dark as angry thunderclouds, Brian stared straight ahead, his solid jaw and angled cheekbones an expressionless piece of carved granite—until he snapped the phone shut with a furious clap. His eyes clenched shut, then flew open with determination. Without a second thought, he calmly pressed delete and put the phone in its usual place in the backpack.

He was a survivor. He could hunt an adversary, defeat a threat in almost any environment because he believed in survival of the fittest. But what made him a formidable opponent was that he recognized his limitations and knew certain tasks required skills and connections he didn’t have. That’s why he shrewdly grabbed his own cell and dialed a number. A man answered on the second ring.

 

continue here:  <http://archiveofourown.org/works/1513463>

 

                    

 

 


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